


To the Stars

by slugbuggie



Category: Merlin (TV), Titanic (1997)
Genre: M/M, Merthur - Freeform, RMS Titanic, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugbuggie/pseuds/slugbuggie
Summary: A lucky hand at poker lands Merlin and his best friend Lancelot aboard the unsinkable ship, the RMS Titanic. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Jack Dawson/Rose DeWitt Bukater, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	1. The Winning Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [LAM2150's post](https://lam2150.tumblr.com/post/623810137044500480/merlin-titanic-au-merlin-is-a-penniless-boy) about a Titanic Merthur AU. It's been sitting in my docs for a while and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it so I decided I might as well post this bit. 
> 
> Lemme know if I should continue!

Lancelot glowered at Merlin over his pitifully poor hand of cards, anxiety leaping in his throat as the Englishman tossed down the last of their coin. He continued to glare and mutter, and Merlin had the shamelessness to flash his friend a grin before looking back down at his own cards. The  _ imbecile _ . Lancelot cursed Merlin internally, for it was not a reassuring smile he’d offered the nervous Spaniard. No, it was a cocky, overconfident smile that did nothing but reinforce in Lancelot’s brain never to allow Merlin to gamble again. The fool was smiling because he’d won. Not the game, no he had not (and with their luck,  _ would _ not) win the game. But in the earlier squabble between the two of them, the one determining whether or not to  _ start _ the game, he had emerged victorious, and that fact appeared to be the only thing registering in his tunnel vision-prone brain. “Don’t try it, Merlin”, Lancelot had argued. “We’ll be betting away our money and our pride.” But who was Merlin if he didn’t feign thoughtful understanding then proceed to  _ ignore _ his best friend’s advice?  _ In what world was it better to be broke and proud than for once in his life step down from a disagreement? _ Merlin’s, evidently. Lancelot scowled again.

And then, by some miracle, their luck shifted. When Merlin laid down his cards Lancelot’s heart jumped again, though this time out of shock and excitement. By the stars, had he just…  _ won _ ? In moments the pair was sprinting down the crowded streets, past family members and friends of passengers whom they would soon be joining. Lancelot cursed and praised his friend in rapid Spanish as they ran.

“Oh, my friend, after all these years you still can’t trust my skill at poker?” Merlin called over his shoulder.

“You’re an arrogant fool,” Lancelot shouted back as they broke free of the crowd and ran down the dock. “And I trust you with my life, never my money.”

“But think, Lance, how often do I lose?”

“Often enough!”

As the great ship pulled away from the harbor, Merlin leaped up onto the rail and shouted goodbyes at the cheering crowd below. He threw his head back and laughed as he waved his open palm, and Lancelot, curious, poked him in the side.

“Do you know someone?”

“Of course not,” was the reply. “That’s not the point.” Lancelot, understanding, grinned and began to wave as well, echoing Merlin’s farewells.

“Goodbye!” he shouted. “I will never forget you!” The good spirits lasted all evening, even though the food was cold and there were rats hiding in the corners of their room. Their roommate was a tall, quiet man with a kind smile, and they waited on one more passenger to fill the remaining bunk. By the first evening, Merlin was certain the journey would be a smashing success, and Lancelot was not about to argue. As the sun sunk low over the vast horizon, Merlin and Lancelot ran out onto the deck, hooting and cheering into the wind. With their coats flapping like wings, they clambered up to the prow of the great, unsinkable ship, and Lancelot tucked himself against the railing as Merlin climbed up to stand above him, gripping the cable by his head and leaning into the salted wind. When he grinned, the air chilled his teeth.

“I’m the king of the world!” Merlin cried, tasting the sea on his tongue when he let out another roar. Lancelot laughed and hollered alongside him, beaming against the battering gusts of wind.

一

In the coming days, the pair of them waved and called out loving goodbyes to each pier they drifted from. With a heartfelt  _ “Adieu!” _ to Cherbourg, France, and a  _ “ _ Farewell!” to Queenstown, Ireland, they, at last, were truly off. Beaming and New York-bound, the two young men stood at the stern of the ship and waved at the Irish coast fading in the distance, while behind them, a man their age who’d just boarded strolled over to stand at the rail.

“So long to old Erin, then, eh? Is it your first time leaving home?”

“Oh,” Merlin laughed, flashing the man a sheepish smile. “We’re not Irish. We’re just saying goodbye.” The dark-haired man frowned but did not question the pair’s strangeness, instead, he dropped his things and stood beside Lancelot at the railing and called something out, too quickly for Merlin to translate to English. It sounded sweet and poetic, and the man gazed tearfully back at land as  _ Titanic _ began to pick up speed. Merlin and Lancelot lingered, waiting as the Irishman bid farewell to his home.

“Where do you come from then, if not Ireland?” he said, at last, turning from the sea to sit on the floor of the deck beside Merlin and Lance.

“America,” said Merlin.

“Oh,  _ around _ ,” Lancelot hummed. “Lancelot, by the way. Du Lac.” They shook hands over Merlin, who sat between them.

“Gwaine,” the Irishman introduced himself. “Anywhere more specific than  _ around _ ?”

“Does Spain work?”

“Sure. And you, Englishman, you don’t sound like you’re from America.”

“Merlin Ambrose. I grew up in England, but I can’t say I call it my home anymore,” he explained. “My mother lives in New York, just cause I’ve never been doesn’t mean I’m not going home.”

“Ah, fine,” Gwaine batted the air with his hand. “That’s sweet, anyway. My mother lives in Dublin. With my sister and brothers. I couldn’t wait to get away from the witch.” Gwaine let out a heavy sigh and leaned back on his luggage.

“ _ My _ mother’s dead.”

“Thank you, Lance,” Merlin jabbed his elbow at his friend, who was chuckling at his addition to the conversation. The trio chatted for a few minutes more before discovering that Gwaine was to fill the empty bunk of their cabin, at which point they insisted on escorting him to the room below deck. There, Gwaine met Percival, their tall, smiling roommate, and the rats, who had yet to be given names. After quite a heated discussion, they decided on David and Pat, and the party of four then floated back up to the deck, which was beginning to be crowded with passengers. They managed to snag a bench, though Gwaine still stood, leaning comfortably against the railing.

“It’s quite a lovely ship, isn’t it, boys?” Percival said, stretching out his long legs. Merlin, who was hunched over drawing beside him, hummed in agreement but did not look up. He looked instead at an old man holding onto his granddaughter, who was standing on the rail, looking out at the sea. With his charcoal, Merlin sketched the man’s pointing finger. He scowled at the page when his wrist smudged the coal, listening vaguely to the conversation continuing on behind him.

“It’s an Irish ship,” said Gwaine. “Built in Belfast, she was.”

“I thought it was an English ship,” came Lancelot’s voice. As Gwaine replied, Merlin’s eyes caught on a butler-looking man, walking a pack of well-groomed dogs past the young men.

“Now that’s typical,” Gwaine said bitterly, noticing Merlin’s attention to them. “Bring the rich dogs down to shite among the poor folk.” Merlin looked up then, finding Gwaine’s eyes were now on him.

“God forbid we forget our place in the grand scheme of things,” he said as he shot Gwaine a cynical smile.

“As if we could,” the Irishman replied. He spoke again, but the question barely registered, as Merlin caught sight of a young man on the deck that jutted out over Gwaine’s shoulder, a look of melancholy on his face. Merlin’s heart skipped a beat, and the blood pumping through his veins was audible in his ears. He felt a bit lightheaded. “Hey, Merls, you make much money off those drawings of yours?” The man’s blond hair blew into his eyes when he looked down, and his thin white shirt fluttered in the breeze. He glowed. His golden skin and his golden hair and his light slacks. He looked like a painting. When his eyes floated over the dark-haired Englishman and his friends, scanning, but unseeing, Merlin felt his skin burn with an inexplicable desire. “Oi, Merlin.” 

“Ay,  _ Merlin _ , look away,” Lancelot said, finally pulling the brunet’s attention back. “Don’t you go and get caught up with people like that, you know how that will end.” Gwaine followed Lancelot’s eyes up to the deck above them, where a dark-haired woman had come and was speaking to the blond man’s back. 

“Oh, forget it, Merlin,” chuckled Gwaine, misunderstanding the scene. “Men like us don’t get a chance with women like her. And you’re better off without her anyhow.” As he spoke, Merlin looked up again, and his eyes followed the blond as he walked away from the woman. His heart began to slow only once the young man was out of sight, and despite himself, despite Gwaine and Lancelot’s warnings, Merlin longed for his pulse to race once more.


	2. Off to Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Arthur's perspectives. Trying to capture Arthur's vibes while also staying true to the Rose story...

“If I’m going to be trapped aboard this ship for a week, I’m at least going to try and make it feel like home,” Arthur snapped at his sister when she teased him for pulling out several paintings to display around his cabin. Morgana laughed lightly and laid back on the couch with a look of amusement on her face.

“Arthur, darling, it’s just  _ America _ , it’s not the end of the world. You’ve been in a foul mood since we left this morning.” Arthur looked over his shoulder and glared at Morgana’s easy attitude toward the whole ordeal. It wasn’t  _ just America. _ It was a new country, a new beginning, it was a new lifestyle that Arthur was not prepared to be a part of.

“It’s more than that, Gana,” Arthur said slowly, stil scowling. When he set down the canvas he was holding, he stepped back to look at it, and behind him could hear Morgana’s sigh. She stood, and gently took his arm.

“I know, Arthur,” she murmured. “But lighten up, won’t you? You’ve still got me, you’ve still got your paintings.” She mentioned the latter in a teasing tone, but still, Arthur was comforted by her words. It was true. Whatever happened when they reached New York, he had his sister, and, though Morgana mocked him, he did have his paintings. He smiled as he pulled another out and set it on the couch where Morgana had been sitting.

“God, not those finger paintings again,” came a voice from the doorway. Arthur caught Morgana’s gaze knowingly, before they both turned to face their father. “I can’t imagine why you waste your money on such things, son.” Arthur held his tongue against a snippy remark, for doing so would result only in a larger disagreement.

“I think they’re beautiful,” Arthur said, voice low. He looked down at the piece, and thought, for a moment, that the piece mirrored his own feelings quite nicely. Blue and dark and a bit chaotic. “Like… being inside a dream.” Morgana glanced at him, then at Uther, who was strolling into the cabin, casting his judgemental gaze around the place.

“ _ I  _ find them fascinating,” Morgana piped up, squinting at the painting Arthur had laid on the couch. “What was the artist’s name again?” she asked lightly, shaking Arthur from his thoughts. He smiled at her, appreciating her feigning interest before their father.

“Something Picasso,” Arthur replied.

“Something Picasso,” Uther scoffed. “He won’t amount to a thing, you know,” he said, motioning with his glass behind Athur to the painting. “You can trust me on that.” He walked away, scanning the bedroom with his criticizing eyes, and Arthur could hear him mutter, “at least they were cheap.” As Uther strolled away, Morgana once again took hold of Arthur’s arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“The difference,” she whispered, “between Father’s taste in art and yours, is that you actually have some. I mean it.” And Arthur could tell that she did. Maybe she wasn’t entirely feigning interest after all. “Don’t you listen to him.” Arthur smiled gratefully at his sister, and patted her hand where it rested on his arm.

“Thank you.”

“ _ Some _ taste,” said Morgana with a smirk. “Only some. You know me, Arthur, I’m a Renaissance girl through-and-through.” But still Arthur smiled, Morgana’s jests could not damper her kindness.

一

Arthur Pendragon did not want to go to America. He did not want to be aboard the great, unsinkable  _ Ship of Dreams _ , and for the love of all things good he did not want to spend five more blasted days in the company of his father. Dear God, it was suffocating. It was hours upon hours of smiling and nodding and ‘yes, I intend to expand the company’ and ‘no, I’m not worried in the slightest’. Within twenty-four hours he was exhausted. Teas and dinners once a week he could handle just fine, but the constant drone of rich company-owners and entrepreneurs aboard the  _ Titanic  _ was wearing him down. Is this what it would be like in America? Is this what it would be as the one in charge? He didn’t think he could handle it any longer. Arthur spent dinner his second night aboard the great ship contemplating the path he seemed to be on in life. He made for terrible company because of that fact, and Morgana did not hesitate to tell him so.

“Arthur,” his sister mumbled, jabbing him with her elbow for what must have been the third or fourth time that evening. “You’ve frozen up again. Could you wake up, please? I’m sick of dodging questions for you.”

“Answer them yourself then,” Arthur growled back. “You actually have a mind for the madness.” Morgana sniffed and turned back to her flute of champagne. Of the two Pendragon siblings, Morgana was far more interested in the politics of running the steel production company their father had waiting for them in the States, but, being a woman, was forbidden by Uther to inherit the company. She was bitter, sure, but it seemed a comfort to her that Arthur was not particularly interested in it all. It meant more control passed to her by her brother in the wake of their father’s death. This was their plan, the two of them, and Arthur couldn’t say he had any problem with it. He and his sister were close. They grew up side by side, under the watch of a handful of governesses, as their father spent a great deal of their childhood ‘striking it rich’ in America. Arthur, try as he might, did not have his sister’s ambitions for the company, he did not have her eagerness to take charge. Pride, sure, he had enough of that, and he could puff out his chest and bark orders if need be, but when it came to the actual inheritance of Pendragon Steel, he was more than happy to hand Morgana the reins.

“Fine,” Morgana hissed back, quite clearly more than willing to do so. As his sister navigated smoothly through questions the rest of the evening, Arthur continued to drift. It wasn’t until the meal was over and drinks were being finished that his father addressed him directly, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts.

“What do you think, Arthur?  _ Pendragon and Son _ , it has quite the ring to it, no?” Arthur felt a bit sick. But, he smiled brightly and nodded.

“It does, Father.” He continued to nod and smile for several minutes more, until the men began to stand and Morgana spoke loud enough for the table to hear.

“Arthur, you look a bit pink, are you alright?” He caught her eye where she sat beside him, God bless his brilliant sister. Arthur smiled and held his hand up at his father and the men in their company, who had paused in pushing in their chairs to look over at him.

“Go on, gentlemen, I think I may need to step outside.”

“Arthur, you do look flushed,” Uther commented. “Are you sick?” He stepped forward but Arthur waved him back.

“I’m alright, Father, just a bit warm. I’ll step outside, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” And with that, he and the other men were on their way, and Arthur, once again, was in Morgana’s debt. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her hairline before walking unsteadily out of the room. Morgana murmured a response, but Arthur's head was filled with far too much static to make any sense of her words. As soon as he was out of view, he began to walk faster, and broke into a run when he reached the hall out to the first-class deck. His chest burned, his head swam, his eyes filled with tears, but he stubbornly blinked them away. He would not cry. It was foolish,  _ childish _ to cry about such things. 

_ He would not cry _ .

一

After dinner and a few rounds of twenty-one, Merlin took one last drink of ale, then excused himself and climbed up to the third-class deck, waving goodbye to his tipsy friends as he went. He thought he might run back down to his cabin and get his sketchbook, but when he stepped outside and saw the sky, he was awestruck. As if in a dream, Merlin slowly lit a new cigarette and settled down on a bench to look up at the stars. The sky was so clear, he felt he could see infinitely in every direction. Above him, he could name a handful of constellations. Leo, the dippers, Gemini. He wondered which star it was that shined so brightly off to the South of the twins. When he turned on his left side, he could look off to the North, where Cassiopeia shone just above the horizon, and beside her, Cepheus, her husband. Merlin smiled, she was his favorite. On land, trees and mountains and hills and buildings blocked the view of the stars that sat lowest in the sky, but not at sea. Here, he could see his Cassiopeia. He knew his summer stars better than his spring ones, so it was a comfort to see the familiar ‘W’ shape of the seated queen on the horizon, it meant warmth was coming. 

“Hello,” he whispered to his favorite pattern of lights. His mother teased when he was younger that if Merlin knew the story of Cassiopeia, he would not love her so much, but when he finally read it, it only intrigued him more. 

Vain, lustful, but beautiful to be sure, Queen Cassiopeia of Ethiopia’s boasting led to her eventual downfall. Merlin, a fan of Perseus as well, found the tale thrilling and continued to favor the recognizable stars. When Merlin shared this with his mother, Hunith (with a sigh and a smile) told Merlin then that Cepheus was her new favorite constellation, because he resided just North of his queen. “When we look to the sky, we can see that our stars are side by side and be comforted knowing we, like them, will soon be together as well,” she told him when he left their small farmhouse in search of work and inspiration for his art. 

Back home, the sky was bright and wide, cut off only by the trees that sat on the horizon. Aboard the  _ Titanic _ , the sky was impossibly vast, impossibly dark, impossibly clear. It was breathtaking.  _ What will the stars look like in New York? _ Merlin wondered.  _ Is mother looking at them now? _ Minutes passed, and as he gazed at the stars, Merlin’s thoughts began to wander to the blond man he’d seen on the first-class deck just a handful of hours before. All evening, he’d been distracted by thoughts of the man, and now, even beneath the glittering sky, his subconscious wandered back to him. Who was he? Why on earth was he so sad? Could he name constellations too? Maybe, just maybe, Merlin would find him. Maybe Merlin would teach him the names and patterns. Maybe they would watch the stars together.

Merlin smiled against his cigarette as he took another long drag. A pretty thought, but not possible, as Gwaine and Lancelot had said. Not possible, but was there harm in a fantasy?


	3. The Great Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The iconic meeting scene. Although who am I kidding, every scene in this movie is iconic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may need to go back and edit this chapter but here have this messy version...

Merlin was shaken from his fantasies by running footsteps behind his head. He looked up in time to see the handsome blond from the deck earlier that day, running toward the stern of the ship. Merlin rose from his bench with a frown, wondering what the boy could be up to. He tucked his cigarette between his teeth and made his way down the deck, around the maze of ropes and equipment, until he caught sight of the bright haired young man climbing to the opposite side of the aft-most rail, and turning slowly around to point his chest toward the sea. Merlin froze, suddenly afraid of what could happen. Would Merlin’s footsteps be the thing to tip him over the edge? Was he beyond saving? Or perhaps could Merlin’s words pull him back? It was a chance that had to be taken, Merlin supposed. Besides, he couldn’t walk away from this without it eating at him for the rest of his life. With a soft sigh and a clench of his jaw, Merlin took a determined step closer.

“Don’t do it.” The blond flinched, which made Merlin’s heart leap anxiously. He wanted to run forward and grab his arm, but he knew any sudden movements could be the death of this young man, who glared proudly back at Merlin where he stood on the ship’s deck.

“Stay back,” he all but commanded, and in any other situation Merlin may have listened. “Don’t- Don’t come any closer.” Merlin reached out, passing his cigarette to his left hand so he could reach out with his right.

“Come on, just give me your hand. I’ll help you back over,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “Let me-”

“I said,  _ don’t _ come any closer,” he snapped, and Merlin stopped in his tracks when the blond, for a moment, lifted one hand from the rail to shake his finger at Merlin. He wobbled against the rail, and his hand shot back to grab a hold of it again. “I mean it. Don’t. I’ll let go.”  _ I’m going to have a heart attack, _ Merlin thought to himself. He passed his cigarette back to his right hand, nodding at the blond as he took half a step closer, then another, so that he was near enough to flick the butt over the edge. And, so that he was near enough to leap out and catch the other boy’s arm if need be. Near enough to glance over and see the blond still staring at him, with his frustrated, red-rimmed eyes.

“No, you won’t,” Merlin murmured, as more of a realization than a comment. When he looked back up at the fury that flared in the other boy’s eyes, which Merlin could see now were a sharp, cold blue, he could see that he was right. They were blue like ice and tears. Blue that was furious and tired, but also so,  _ so _ afraid. Far too afraid to dare let go of the rail, to let go of life. Merlin knew the feeling. He could talk this boy down. Merlin tucked his hands in his pockets and offered an innocent shrug as he watched the blond’s chest begin to heave.

“What do you mean, I won’t? Who the hell are you to-”

“I’m just saying, you-”

“You should leave me. You should leave. I’ll  _ let go _ , I say!” he barked out as Merlin took a shuffling step closer.

“All I’m saying is, if you were really going to jump, you would have done it already.”

“I would- I- Do  _ you- _ Do you know who I am,  _ boy _ ?” the blond barked, voice steady and strong for the first time that night, voice suddenly sounding much older than he looked. He slowly began to straighten on his shaking arms, glaring at Merlin all the way.  _ Don’t do that! _ Merlin’s heart pounded, but he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets and took another easy step toward the rail.

“No,” he said, staring the blond straight in the eyes. “No, I don’t know who you are.” There was a furious sputter from the other boy but Merlin continued on. “But I know who I am. Merlin Ambrose, at your service.” He held out his hand, and for a moment, the blond simply stared at it, unsure what to do. “Come on now, you’re obviously from a nice family, don’t they give you lessons on how to be polite?” The blue eyes widened, but the remark seemed to be enough to convince the blond it was not worth it to argue with Merlin. He twisted, but did not release the rail to take Merlin’s hand. 

“Arthur. Pendragon. Of Pendragon Steel.” 

  
  


“Oh,” Merlin smirked. “He has a title.” 

“I don’t  _ want _ it,” Arthur spat. Ah, so that’s what this was about. “I don’t know why I said it.” He turned away again, and Merlin took another step closer.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, look at me. Come on, give me your hand.”

“No. No, stay back,” Arthur said again, trying to scoot sideways away from Merlin. 

“You don’t want to do this.” When Arthur spun around again to snap at Merlin, there were tears in his eyes.

“You don’t know me! You don’t know my life.” By God, how stubborn did one boy need to be? Merlin sagged a bit. A new approach. They could do this. Arthur would be okay. Why on earth he’d become so committed to the whole ordeal, Merlin could not say, but there was something deep inside him that would not allow him to leave Arthur. This boy in pain. Merlin could not abandon him.

“Okay, you’re right. You’re right. I don’t know you. But I- Well, I’ve… I’ve been up on the edge before, you know.” This, at last, made Arthur pause.

“You have?” he asked quietly, almost too quietly to be heard over the crash of the sea.

“I have. It wasn’t so long ago, you know. I was up on the rail of a bridge one night telling myself that it was the end. That I was trapped and the only way out was… well, you know, to let go.”

“But you didn’t let go.”

“No.”

“Why?” Merlin met Arthur’s tear-filled eyes. Maybe they weren’t cold, like he’d originally thought. Maybe they were warm like the soft blue of a babe’s blanket, or a patch of sky in late spring. Merlin stepped closer, and Arthur let him.

“Look up.” Arthur did, without hesitation. He was desperate for a reason stay, Merlin could tell that at a glance. “The stars, can you name them?” Arthur shook his head no. “I can’t name them all, only some. That one’s Leo.” He took another step, so that he was pressed almost to Arthur’s back, and pointed up at the sky. “That’s Gemini, and Ursa Major.”

“The Plough?” Arthur murmured. Merlin smiled.

“That’s right. And way down there- Here, follow my finger- Down there to the North, do you see the ‘W’? Do you see it?” Arthur turned his head, leaning back slightly into Merlin’s chest to keep his balance. Merlin’s heart pounded, but he kept himself still. Left hand pointing to the North horizon, right hand hovering above Arthur’s hip, ready to grab him and pull him back.

“I see it.”

“That’s Cassiopeia. And her husband, Cephus, he’s the triangle right there. And that’s just the tip of Perseus. You can’t quite see him yet. Or Andromeda. They’re summer stars.”

一

_ Summer stars. _ Who was this kid? Who was he to breathe down Arthur’s neck and point out the constellations to him? Arthur cursed him. Cursed Merlin over and over and over for stopping him, for  _ caring _ . Why on Earth did he stop him? What obligation did he have to a  _ stranger _ hanging off the end of a ship?  _ Curse him _ . Arthur’s mind was scattered, yet he hung on to Merlin’s every word, trying to pick out the constellations the dark-haired boy pointed out to him. Gradually, the search for stars pulled him from his frustration and grief. He could see the ‘W’, he was sure of that. The triangle, Cephus, he wasn’t quite so certain of. He could not even begin to find what starts Merlin was describing to be Perseus and Andromeda, but as the other boy spoke, the stories began to fill his head. Old Greek tales he’d heard from Morgana. Heroes, damsels, curses. The kind of things his sister loved to read about. The kind of things Merlin here probably read about. 

“Perseus. I’ve read about him,” Arthur told Merlin, in an attempt to sound as if he had some vague notion of understanding of these myths. He wouldn’t be made an idiot in all of this after all. The least he could do was keep some sliver of his pride.

“Well, then you know how he saved the lady Andromeda from certain death. Did you read that?” He must have, he could only vaguely remember it. Something about cliffs? The sea? A monster? There were always monsters in such stories.

“I did.” Arthur shifted, and Merlin’s hand darted to his side, pulling him back against the rail. Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, let go,” he snapped. “I’m turning around.”

“You are?” Merlin loosened his grip, allowing Arthur to turn and face him, reaching up to steady himself on Merlin’s arm, while his left hand continued to grip the railing. The darker haired boy grasped Arthur’s hand, then his wrist, then his bicep, and then reached out to grab the other bicep as well. Arthur noticed then how very close they were to each other. Chest-to-chest, grasping at each other’s arms. He wanted to pull away, but fought the impulse, as the only place he could step away to at the moment was the sea beneath him.

“I am.” Arthur barked out a sharp laugh. “Look at me, Merlin. I’ve done it.” Merlin grinned.

“I’ve saved the damsel then. Like Perseus himself. Come on, Arthur, climb back over. I’m starting to get cold.” Arthur, struck by Merlin’s proud grin, almost smiled back at the boy.  _ Don’t be a girl, Arthur. _ The feeling faded quickly into a frown of concentration as he began the process of struggling back onto the deck. He glanced down to secure his footing on the rail, and his grip on Merlin’s arm began to tighten. For a split second, he looked past his feet, down at the sea, which broke into white daggers beneath him. “Don’t look down, Andromeda,” Merlin’s voice was quiet, but at the same time so much louder than the wake of the ship. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, partially to block out the view of the sea below, partially to keep from rolling them at Merlin..

“Don’t mock me while my life is in your hands,” he whispered, cursing himself when his voice shook. Merlin squeezed his arms, drawing Arthur’s attention away from the water.

“Hey,” he murmured, and when their eyes met, Arthur was struck by the intensity of them, and felt no desire to snap at the boy who was quite literally pulling him from the edge. Arthur blinked. Merlin’s eyes were the sea, not the cutting waves below, but the vast blue-green one could stare out at for hours from the coast. When they stared into each other, they were the true horizon, dark sea meeting bright sky in a perfect, complete skyline. “I’ve got you,” said Merlin, and Arthur had never trusted anyone so completely as he did Merlin in that moment.


	4. The Great Precipice ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the last chapter, which I ended in a really odd place for some reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter, I'll hopefully be able to update again soon.

“I’ve got you,” Merlin assured Arthur, gripping his arms so tightly his knuckles were beginning to turn white. “Come on now.” Arthur locked his eyes on Merlin’s neck as he stepped his right foot up on the first rung of the rail. “Good.” He shifted his arms to wrap around Merlin’s shoulders and took another step up. Two rungs. Good. He lifted his right foot again, but as he did, his left slipped on the slick metal and he lost his footing.  _ Oh, shit. _ Arthur slipped, and the weight of his body tore him away from Merlin. He shouted out in fear, but his arm shot out on instinct, grabbing a hold of a rung of the railing just as Merlin managed to get a grip on his arm. They held each other’s wrists, and Arthur held the rail.

“Merlin!” Arthur cringed at the fear that seeped into his voice.

“I’ve got you!” Merlin called out again, squeezing Arthur’s arm. “Come on, you can do it.” Arthur’s fingers were cold, and though he gripped the rail, he felt weak, like his grip would fail. Arthur let out another yell, scrambling to get a hold of the rail, but it slipped from his fingers, until the only thing keeping him from falling into the sea was Merlin’s desperate grip on his arm. As he held on to Arthur, Merlin’s eyes were wild, fearful, and the deepest shade of blue Arthur had ever seen. There was a sudden stillness in the night as Arthur was caught once again in Merlin’s eyes. So, so  _ blue _ . The type of blue that existed only in paintings, paintings like Monet’s Lilies, The Starry Night, like the Picasso Arthur had pulled from its box the afternoon before. Blue and dark and a bit chaotic.  _ Breathtaking _ .

Arthur began to slip from Merlin’s grip.

“Arthur!” Merlin all but screamed, snapping the blond from his trance. Arthur was filled suddenly with great frustration at the whole ordeal. 

“Don’t yell at me,” he growled, grabbing onto the side of the ship in an attempt to steady himself. Merlin made a shrill noise of disbelief. His fingers were digging into Arthur’s arm. 

“Climb, for  _ God’s sake _ , you can do it!” Try as he might to beat it down, the fear returned. The distraction of Merlin’s eyes was thrown away until it was just Arthur, hanging there, battered by icy wind and the unforgiving metal of the stern of the ship. He glared at Merlin to keep the terror from becoming apparent on his face, holding tighter, but unable to convince his arms to pull himself up.  _ What if he slipped again? _ “Arthur,” Merlin said, more gently this time. Soft enough that Arthur was again surprised to hear him over the crash of the sea, but the man’s words were clear in his ears. “I won’t let go.”

“I never said you would.” Merlin let out another frustrated growl. His cheeks were pink with exertion, or perhaps from the cold wind that bit at the sensitive skin of his face. 

“You can  _ trust _ me, Arthur. Come on, pull yourself up.”  _ Could _ he trust Merlin? Would he even be in this position if the dark-haired young man had minded his own business and went on with his night? The rational side of Arthur’s brain piped up, reminding him  _ he’d be dead by now if not for Merlin _ . Arthur swallowed the urge to again look down at the sea.

“Fine,” he said, as steadily as he could, and then, in a surge of courage, gripped Merlin’s arm and launched his hand up to grip the bottom rung of the railing, then the next. Merlin pulled as well, until Arthur fell over the other side of the rail and the two of them stumbled to the ground beside each other, chests heaving. 

“Shit,” Merlin whispered.

“Shit,” Arthur agreed. Running footsteps rang out down the deck, moving nearer to the breathless boys by the second. They struggled to their feet, brushing themselves off just as the crewmen scrambled up the stairs to the stern. As a small crowd of men formed, Arthur heard a familiar voice yell out his name. “ _ Shit. _ ”

“Arthur?” Uther Pendragon called. “Are you alright? We heard shouting.” He was with a couple of business friends and a handful of crewmen. It seemed he’d stepped out for a stroll and a smoke at precisely the wrong moment, the perfect time to catch Arthur on the tail end of a failed… God, what had it been anyway? Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep from growling in frustration.

“I’m just fine, Father.”

“We heard shouting,” a crewman echoed. Merlin began to speak but Arthur swiftly interrupted him.

“A bit of excitement,” he explained. “I was leaning over the railing and slipped, Mr. Ambrose was quick enough to catch hold of my arm. No need for alarm, gentlemen.”

“We heard… quite a bit of shouting,” the same crewman said slowly. Arthur struggled to keep his expression even.

“I’ve had a long night,” he said dryly, by way of explanation.

“And it was quite the slip too,” Merlin chimed in. “Nearly went straight over the rail.” Arthur shot Merlin a withering look, to which Merlin responded with a smirk and a raised brow. The bastard. 

“Is that right?” That and a chorus of other questions arose from the crew and businessmen. Merlin, still smiling proudly at Arthur, began to spin a tale. One that did not involve Arthur stepping voluntarily over the edge, thank God, but  _ did _ involve Arthur being rescued by Merlin like a right  _ damsel _ in distress. The worst part of it all was the fact that Arthur had to fight to keep from smiling right back at Merlin each time the other boy grinned. 

“He was leaning over, looking at something, I assume. The propellers?” Arthur gave a halfhearted nod and stubbornly looked away. “I came out for a smoke and a peek at the stars, they’re quite lovely this time of year.” A couple of the men glanced up at the sky and mumbled in agreement. “I saw Mr. Pendragon Steel here leaning over the edge and I thought I might tell him to take a step back, but before I could, he was slipping. Just about went clear over, but I grabbed him and pulled him back. So I was yelling and he was yelling and we were both yelling a bit. You can’t blame us.” He shrugged easily, like an apologetic little boy, charming and sweet. Arthur both wanted to slap him and praise him for the story. It was shit, Arthur could have done better,  _ and _ it had not been agreed upon between the two of them, but he could work with it. Beyond the Titanic crewmen, Uther and his businessman friends were wide-eyed and impressed. Uther shoved forward, coming to a stop before Merlin. He looked first at Arthur.

“This is true?” Arthur nodded.

“It’s true, Father.”

“You’re a hero then,” he said, a bit disbelieving. “You saved my son.” Merlin’s smirk vanished in less than a second.

“I wouldn’t say-”

“You must be rewarded,” Uther insisted.

“Well I don’t-” Arthur held up a hand.

“Father, you don’t need to-”

“He saved the heir of my company,” Uther said, in a tone Arthur had learned not to argue with. “He’ll be rewarded. He will come to dinner tomorrow night, perhaps we can talk business. If you’d like, I would be pleased to offer you a job, Mister…” He searched for the name Arthur had used only minutes before, but couldn’t find it.

“Ambrose,” Merlin said awkwardly as he held out his hand for Uther to take. “And I really appreciate this Mr. Pendragon, Sir, but I don’t think-”

“It’s settled then,” Uther said after pumping Merlin’s hand once, firmly. “You will join us tomorrow night, Mr. Ambrose.” He nodded to Merlin, to Arthur, to the men that surrounded them, “Good night.” He turned, movements crisp, and he and his colleagues stalked away, baffled crewmen close behind. Arthur turned back to Merlin with a pointed glare. 

“Shit,” Merlin groaned.


	5. Day on Deck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My god I'm updating this story slow... sorry everyone.

“Ambrose!” Lancelot cocked his head at Merlin when a voice behind them called his name. Merlin looked back at his friend but continued walking, he passed his sketchbook from his left hand to his right. “Hey, Mr. Ambrose!”

“Are you going to talk to that man?” Lancelot hissed. He began to turn his head to see who was calling, but Merlin stopped him.

“It’s Arthur,” he told Lancelot, who smirked at that, he’d been victim to a nice long rant from Merlin the night before. “I don’t _want_ to, but I don’t think I’m going to have a choice.” Merlin had stared at the bottom of Lance’s bunk for nearly an hour the night before, running over his interaction with _Arthur Pendragon of Pendragon Steel_. There’d been a brief moment when Arthur had fallen when their eyes met and Merlin had _thought_ he saw a change in them. The bullheadedness and the frustration and the _fear_ melted away to reveal something warmer, something he couldn’t quite place. Arthur had looked up at him with his cool, clear eyes and Merlin felt as though he was looking straight into his soul. And the strangest part was that he hadn’t even _minded_ , Arthur could look into his soul all he wanted and Merlin would _let_ him. But it was gone in a second, giving way to an even more infuriating Arthur, who snapped at Merlin and shot poisonous glares and did nothing more than turn up his nose before walking away to catch up with his father. He hadn’t even said _thank_ _you_. 

“ _ Ambrose _ , don’t walk away from me.” This time, Merlin turned, raising an eyebrow at Arthur and cocking his head in a way that said, ‘ _ what do you want? _ ’. Arthur scowled. “I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Ambrose.”

“You’re talking to me,  _ Mr. Pendragon. _ ” Arthur’s glare deepened. He had his left hand tucked into the pocket of his gray slacks, and he wore a cream-colored vest over a white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his gray blazer was slung over his right arm, hat in hand to keep it from blowing away. Merlin felt underdressed just looking at him, in his brown slacks and old suspenders. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his sternum, exposing his once-white undershirt, and he resisted the urge to do up his buttons.

“Will you walk with me?” Merlin sighed and gave Lancelot an apologetic look.

“I’ll go find Percival and Gwaine,” Lance said as he walked away, and Merlin thanked the stars for his friend’s self control, though he could see in Lance’s eyes just how badly he wanted to let slip a teasing remark. It would be an evening spent being interrogated by Arthur’s father followed by an interrogation from Lancelot and the others, Merlin realized. He and Arthur had wandered nearly all the way up to the first-class deck when Arthur finally spoke.

“Mr. Ambrose, I wanted to tell you that I appreciated your discretion last night.”

“My discretion?” Arthur cleared his throat before continuing.

“You… I don’t need any more tension between me and my father, knowledge of what truly happened last night would only make things worse.” Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  _ Where was the Arthur from last night? _ The one who held his shoulders and bickered easily? Merlin was already frustrated by the whole situation, and  _ this _ conversation was not helping in the slightest. “Obviously, you couldn’t know-”

“I  _ saved _ you,” Merlin snapped, a bit more forcefully than he’d intended, but oh well. Arthur stopped, and Merlin turned to face him. To his surprise, there was no anger on the blond’s face.

“Twice,” Arthur said quietly. “That’s- That’s what I’m trying to say. You saved me twice. I… Thank you, Mr. Ambrose.” Merlin blinked.

“Oh.” Arthur looked as if he was surprised the words had come out at all, but he recovered quickly and gave Merlin a firm nod before looking around, as if plotting an escape route. When he started forward again, Merlin fell into step beside him, afraid that if he fell too far behind, Arthur would be gone before Merlin ever had the chance to really speak to him.

“Well, that’s what I needed to say. You can return to your friend and whatever you were-”

“Merlin.”

“What?”

“Call me Merlin.” Arthur slowed, casting a surprised look in Merlin’s direction, but did not stop. Merlin thought he could see Arthur’s shoulders begin to relax, though he couldn’t be sure. He smiled, and Arthur smiled back.

“Merlin.” When he said it, a bit of that softer, warmer version of him from the night before returned. “Thank you, Merlin.” They walked some more, beginning to ease into each other’s company, until they’d taken a full lap around the deck. The conversation was prim, polite, pulled on tangents by Merlin, and guided back to weather or business by Arthur. Merlin found himself charmed by the secret version of the young man that hid beneath his stiff facade, and made it a bit of a mission to discover that Arthur, pushing and prodding until he laughed or shot back with a clever remark. It was more fun than he’d like to admit. When they reached the starboard side of the ship, Arthur veered off to the edge of the deck, leaning an arm against the metal and frowning over at Merlin. 

“What?” Merlin rested his hand against a thick rope, pulled taught and firm, and tested his weight before leaning, arm outstretched. 

“What’s that?” Arthur gestured to the sketchbook that Merlin held against his body. Merlin looked down at it protectively, and held it closer to his body on instinct as he debated whether to show it to Arthur. He wished silently that he’d left it with Lance, but it was too late now. He looked up at the blond, he was genuinely interested, his body turned toward Merlin and his posture open and curious. In the yellow light of the late afternoon, his hair glinted gold in places, glittering when it fluttered in the wind. His eyes were bright, and in his face, Merlin saw the heavens, rays of a hot golden sun casting shadows across a cold blue sky. He blinked, the image faded, and Arthur looked less a god and more a handsome young man staring expectantly, curious about a sketchbook. Merlin wordlessly handed it over.

Arthur flicked through it quickly for the first few pages, then slowed, and began to look longer at each piece. He glanced up at Merlin in surprise, then slid down the side of the ship to sit on the deck, setting his jacket and hat down beside him. Merlin joined him.

“ _ Mer _ lin,” Arthur said, and Merlin was once again pleased by the way it sounded on Arthur’s tongue. “These are…  _ good _ .” His fingers trailed down a charcoal sketch of Lancelot, who had one hand over his mouth and another in his hair. Merlin barked a laugh.

“You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t take you for an artist.”

“No? Starving artist, broke, homeless… but undeniably  _ charming _ ?” He held his hand up and made the motion of a banner in the sky and smiled toothily at the blond. Arthur scoffed.

“You’re right, I see it.”

“So I am charming?”

“Everything but that.” Merlin grinned. “My sister, she’s an artist too,” Arthur mused as he turned the page, the cleanly shaded torso of a young man. Merlin made no mention of the blush that rose on Arthur’s cheeks. 

“She is?” Arthur hummed affirmatively.

“She’s a mean old witch, but she paints the loveliest landscapes you’ve ever seen if she gives herself the chance.” Merlin laughed. 

“You love her then?”

“Very much.”

“I’d like to meet her.” Arthur looked away from the drawing to Merlin, and their eyes caught the way they had the night before, only this time, the wind didn’t bite and the sea didn’t crash below them. Again Merlin felt as though Arthur was looking straight into him, searching for something, though Merlin didn’t know what. It felt as though Merlin was a strange new beast, completely uncharted territory, and Arthur was analyzing every action, cataloging each mannerism and trying to understand  _ why _ Merlin was acting the way he was, why he was  _ saying _ the things he was. He was a bit breathless by the time Arthur finally looked away, eyes flicking over Merlin’s shoulder to a point down the deck.

“You will,” he said, casting his gaze back down to the man on the page before flipping the book shut in his lap. “And sooner than I thought.” Before Merlin could say anything, a young lady called out Arthur’s name and the blond rose to his feet to greet her. Merlin followed his line of sight to see a tall, dark-haired woman, holding the arm of an older man. He recognized her as the woman who had been speaking to Arthur the first time Merlin had seen him—the afternoon before as he’d sketched on the deck below Arthur’s—but the man he hadn’t seen before. He looked familiar with Arthur, the two of them nodding at each other and patting shoulders in greeting, and his face had a trace of humor on it, as if the woman had told him a joke only moments before, and he was trying to hide his laughter.

“Arthur!” she said again. “We thought we’d join you for a stroll before dinner.” She wore a long, light dress, nearly as green as her bright, bright eyes. “Is this the famous Mr. Ambrose?” Merlin grinned.  _ Famous, eh? _ He held his hand out for her to take, and when she did, her fingers, chilled by the wind, were narrow and her grip was strong. She pumped once, firmly, as her father had, and the slightness of her hands did not distract Merlin from the fact that she was a born leader, with the handshake of a woman made to be in charge. He held her gaze as well as he could, if not to show that he could fit in around Arthur and his people, then at least to convince her that he was not  _ prey _ .

“Just Merlin,” he told her.

“ _ Merlin _ . I’m Morgana.” Her smile was brilliant, her eyes flicked between Merlin and a scowling Arthur. “Allow me to thank you for your quick actions last night. I’ll need Arthur’s help if I’m going to someday be running my father’s company.” Merlin’s eyes widened in surprise at her bluntness, and Arthur swiftly pulled her aside.

“Mor _ gana _ ,” he hissed. “For God’s sake, care to keep your voice down?”

“What did I say?” she protested innocently. It was at that moment that Merlin decided that he liked her very much. The four of them, Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, and the older man, who introduced himself as Gaius, walked slowly around the deck of the great ship. Merlin listened, mostly, but after a while, Morgana slipped her hand from Gaius’ arm and attached herself instead to Merlin’s side, pulling him ahead of the other two men.

“I heard you were an artist,” he said conversationally. Morgana smiled wide, and Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that the reason she’d pulled him away was to discuss this very topic.

“Sometimes I paint. I heard you were as well.”

“Sometimes I sketch,” Merlin said in the same flippant tone. Morgana raised a dark eyebrow at him. “What do you paint?” She threw a hand in the air, motioning toward the horizon.

“Oh, landscapes. I wish to God I could paint people, but I’ve never quite been able to. What do you draw?”

“People,” Merlin said with a smile. Morgana huffed.

“Can I see?” she said after a few moments. She’d been eyeing his sketchbook for several minutes, and he decided he’d been right to suspect she’d pulled him ahead to talk about his drawings. He handed her the sketchbook, and as he watched her take it, wondered why on Earth he was even giving it to her. What was happening to him? On any other day, he’d be much more conservative about sharing his art, and yet somehow, the Pendragon siblings had managed to charm him (trick him, perhaps?) into giving the book up without so much as an argument. Morgana moved her arm the rest of the way through his so she could hold the book in both hands, but kept their elbows intertwined. Merlin navigated her around the other passengers.

“What do you think?” he said after several minutes of silence. He was beginning to get nervous, knowing Morgana’s eye was far more critical than Arthur’s. Morgana stared for a long time at each piece, taking in each stroke. It was an artist’s analysis, not just any old observer.

“I think these are incredible,” she said quietly. “Just magnificent.” Merlin blushed. “Will you teach me?”

“What?”

“To draw people? Where are you headed? New York?” A nod. She smiled. “When we dock, will you teach me?” 

“Alright.” Merlin didn’t know how, but Morgana’s smile widened even more. She passed the book back to him and held his elbow comfortably as they continued their walk. The party took one more lap around the deck before the horns rang, signaling dinner, and Arthur and Morgana bid Merlin farewell just a moment later to change for dinner. 

“I assume I’ll speak to you more tonight,” Gaius said with a soft smile, they hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk, but Merlin enjoyed the man’s company, and he smiled warmly back.

“I hope so,” he replied.

“Well, I’ll let you change then, I suppose I should go clean up myself.” Merlin frowned, he thought Gaius looked just fine in his brown suit, better dressed than Merlin had ever been in his life, in fact. He’d wondered why Arthur and Morgana had slipped away so quickly, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if the two of them had different outfits for breakfast and lunch and tea and dinner, so he hadn’t questioned it. But him? He wasn’t going to  _ change _ . He barely had a week’s worth of clothing to begin with.

“Change?” he asked before Gaius could walk away. The old man’s eyebrow rose sharply, and Merlin resisted the urge to flinch away. It was a piercing stare.

“You don’t mean to go in this, do you?”

“Um, would it be bad if I said yes?” 


End file.
